


divinity

by lyricalprose (fairylights)



Series: 2013 Fic Advent Calendar [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 2013 Fic Advent Calendar, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:13:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylights/pseuds/lyricalprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor shoots Jack what is probably intended to be a scathing look. Unfortunately for him, any intimidating effect is mitigated by the absolutely ludicrous effect of the too-large flower crown sliding lower on his head. His ears, in the end, are the only thing that keep it from sliding off his head and down around his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	divinity

**Author's Note:**

> [theladyro](http://theladyro.tumblr.com) asked “I always wondered what kind of god the 9th Doctor would make. I mean that cliche when they land on a planet where he fits the description of their god…”
> 
> Fill #11 for my [2013 fic advent calendar](http://lyricalprose.tumblr.com/tagged/2013-fic-advent-calendar).

“Stop it,” the Doctor says harshly, as he adjusts the circlet of yellow flowers perched on his head.  
  
Rose, who has not stopped laughing since the moment she entered the room several minutes ago, is entirely too busy howling with mirth to pay him any mind. “Never,” she chokes out, around a helpless giggle. “I am _never_ gonna stop laughin’ about the fact that you’re wearin’ a yellow flower crown and a big gold dress.”  
  
“It’s not a _dress_ ,” the Doctor insists, indignantly. “It’s a – a full-body ceremonial sash.” He waves his arms, which are still encased in leather, even if his jacket, jumper, and jeans are mostly hidden by a sweeping, expansive swath of marigold fabric. “I do not wear _dresses._ ” He pauses for a moment before amending, “At least not recently.”

  
“I don’t know, Doc,” Jack drawls. He’s sprawled on the divan in the back room of the temple they’ve been shown to, eating some sort of turquoise berries out of a bowl of fruit. “A dress might suit you. Something in black, with a nice square neckline? It’d really set off those broad shoulders of yours.”  
  
The Doctor shoots Jack what is probably intended to be a scathing look. Unfortunately for him, any intimidating effect is mitigated by the absolutely ludicrous effect of the too-large flower crown sliding lower on his head. His ears, in the end, are the only thing that keep it from sliding off his head and down around his neck.  
  
“So, all this–” Rose says, once her giggles have subsided enough to allow for speech, “this is all ‘cause they think you’re a _god?_ ”  
  
The Doctor simply glowers at her.  
  
Jack, however, answers her. “Oh, but Rose, it gets better.” His grin is equal parts wicked and delighted. “The god of _sound._ On account of the ears.” He flicks at his own ears, then cocks his head in the direction of the Doctor, who is still scowling at both of them, clearly strongly displeased with the whole affair.  
  
Rose stifles another bout of giggles. “I dunno,” she says. “The ears are pretty impressive, Doctor, but I think you’d make a better god of…engines, or something. Machines, or mechanics.”  
  
“Lord of the banana groves,” Jack suggests airily.  
  
“God of travelers.”  
  
“Patron saint of bad timing.”  
  
“Patron saint of _good_ timing.”  
  
“Are you two _quite_ done?” the Doctor finally snaps, shooting sour looks at both of them. “I’m not interested in bein’ a god of _anything_ , thank you very much.”  
  
“Oh, but _Rose,_ ” Jacks interjects brightly, ignoring the Doctor altogether. “You still haven’t heard the best part.”  
  
“What?” She grins. “What’s the best part?”  
  
Jack’s answering grin is absolutely filthy. “They think you’re his _consort._ ”  
  
—-  
  
Two hours later, Rose has well and truly stopped laughing.  
  
“All right,” she says, as they’re marched towards the altar, where they are apparently meant to be sacrificed as an offering of appeasement to the local _’higher’_ gods. She turns towards the Doctor, who is being marched alongside her, and sighs, “I’ll admit it. It’s not funny anymore.”  
  
For his part, the Doctor is staring at Rose with a rather dazed expression on his face – like she’s something impossible, something rare and fascinating.  
  
Rose scowls at him and barks, “Oi, Doctor.” He snaps to at the sound of his name, eyes jumping up to lock with her own. “You in there? Plan? Escape? Sometime soon, maybe?”  
  
“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking a bit embarrassed. “It’s just–” he waves a hand at her, rather helplessly. “–that dress – you look – you look nice, is all.”  
  
Rose looks down at the dress the temple attendants had foisted on her. It’s knee-length and shimmery, done up in the same bright marigold shade as the Doctor’s so-called ‘ceremonial sash’, but otherwise rather plain. “Nothin’ special,” she says, shrugging. “Not a patch on your grand ball gown there, for sure.”  
  
She expects a goofy grin and a teasing remark in response. Instead, the Doctor just smiles, his face going soft in that very rare way Rose has only seen a handful of times. “You look beautiful,” he says, simply.  
  
Rose waits for the qualifier – for the _for a human_ or the inevitable snide comment about his attire being far more fetching – but one, two, three, four, five seconds tick by, then five more, and it still doesn’t come.  
  
“You both look _lovely_.” Jack breaks the silence with a hissing whisper, from his place just behind them in the marching column. “But I’d like to jump on the ‘escape plan’ train right about now, since I think we’re all treading quite close to fiery death pretty quick here.”  
  
—-  
  
Thankfully, there is no fiery death, in the end. There isn’t even any fire, which is just wonderful as far as Rose is concerned.  
  
(No fire means she can salvage the dress).


End file.
